For The Blood of Men and Monsters
by A Starr Is Reborn
Summary: "For what it's worth, you're right. That girl is a freak. An emotionless death machine the likes of which I've never seen, never dared dream of... A monster."
1. Prologue: The Beast

"You bring me a child. I ask for your biggest, your baddest, your strongest..." his hands slam down on the large desk. It, and everything scattered across the top of it, rattles and shakes. He was a large man though, slapping those ham hocks down on anything would make it tremble. For such a giant of a man, it's especially terrifying how soft his rolling-thunder voice growls, "And you bring me a _child._ "

The child in question, a young girl, sits in a plain wooden chair. Not even half as opulent as the desk. Lacking any cushion. Her expression matches the chair she sits upon. Plain. She wears no emotion, stare vacant. As if the increasingly furious man easily seven times her size, looking at her like he wants to snap her pretty pale neck with the flex of just one meaty hand, does not exist.

Or at least, as if she does not care. In truth... She doesn't.

"Sir, if I may?" The skinny whelp of a smiling snake in the grass stands behind the girl. His hands flutter, settling on her shoulders. Perhaps they squeeze them for comfort. Perhaps they are heavy with the weight of reminder, of what she is and who she belongs to. Perhaps they are meant to keep her from running.

She does not move. Hardly blinks. This man with his unblemished hands squeezing her with a white knuckled grip means as much to her as the chair she sits on. What he wants and what it means are irrelevant.

"Fine." The Beast sitting behind The Desk sits back and watches them from beneath his heavy brows. The Snake releases her with a sigh. And then his breath tickles her ear.

"Dear girl," he croons. It's supposed to be like candy and marshmallows and tooth-achingly-sweet icing. In her ears it sounds sharp. Shards of glass that bleed out the sugar. Behind them she hears the door open. Shuffling footsteps and pathetic whimpering.

"You're going to be a good girl now, aren't you?" His hands squeeze again.

" _Please,_ " the feeble, whimpering voice cries behind her. " _Please please._ "

"You're going to kill this bug here, you're going to crush it." There's the sound of flesh meeting flesh. The crying stops abruptly as a body tumbles to the ground. Metal clatters on the ground. A blade, she thinks.

"Why?"

"Because," it hisses out from between his thin, smiling lips. Truly like a snake. "I said so." She is pushed out of her chair. But she does not meet the floor like the child picking itself up behind her. She lands on her feet and turns on her heel.

It's a girl.

She's holding a tiny knife in her trembling hands. It winks and shines in the light. Sharp. Not quite so much as Snake's voice. But close. She's crying and there's a smear of blood on her mouth.

There's an angry man behind the girl. A smear of blood on his knuckles. He's smiling. But it isn't happy. He steps back and away from her until his back leans against the door. She steps forward and around the chair.

The girl's trembling worsens. At one point she lunges forward. Eyes squeezed shut.

And it is foolish.

The girl who had not reacted once acts and sidesteps and trips the child. The girl tumbles to the ground once again, dropping her knife this time, and her calm adversary steps over to kick it away. Crying, she tries to back away but then her hands are kicked out from under her. She's flipped over, and hands lock around her throat.

Weak arms wave and flail. Hands scratch and pull at that which restricts her air flow. Eyes bulge. She starts to panic. She kicks and bucks. She's frantic. She cries. Her mouth flops open and closed in attempts to scream and beg mercy.

But her adversary is calm.

She does not react as the life she holds in her hands begins to weaken. Fade. Nails bite into her arms and face. They mark and sting into her flesh. They are insignificant. She breathes in and out evenly. She blinks only slowly.

Fading.

Fading.

Ever fading.

Arms flop against the floor. Sluggish. Slow. Twitches. Eyes are dimming, dimming.

She dies with a gurgle. But for good measure, the winner snaps her neck. She sits back on the body. Stares at the imprint of her hands. Stands up and goes back to her chair.

There she perches. Staring back at The Beast behind The Desk. He's smiling. And it is a happy smile. A smile that drips with satisfaction. Content.

"What's her name?" He does not speak to her. She does not answer him. The Snake curls his bony fingers around her shoulders again. A grip that bruises.

"Anna."

"And tell me, girl," his beady, dark eyes glitter and gleam with interest as they fondle her visage. "Why did you choke her?"

She says, "I didn't want to get blood on your floor."

This is amusing to Him. This is a magnificent answer. The Beast tells her that He likes her spark. And The Snake tells her, as he leads her away from the room with his hand forever clamped around a shoulder, that she is very powerful.

Unique.

He tells Anna that she will make Him money, and that will make Them happy. Which will be good for her; They will be willing to treat her with kindness. They will reward her.

She understands what this means but she does not. She says nothing. She does not smile for him. But he smiles enough for the both of them.

"This will be your home now," he leads her to a door. Behind it is her prison with perks. A bed. A bathroom. A small kitchen. Everything is gray. "I am your Master."

"The Beast is your Master." His face clears of emotion. But his eyes are heated. He hasn't hit her. He knows she'll hit back. Then he smiles. Again.

"Only because it is convenient for me at this time."

He says it with confidence and she considers it. Eventually she acknowledges this with a slight nod. For the first time, he manages to surprise her. As she breaks from his grip and steps into her gray apartprisonment, he calls to her,

"You may have Our blood, when the time is right."

The door closes. She does not know if it locks automatically or if The Snake locks it himself. It locks with a series of loud clicks and clanks and clunks. And the girl who is Anna thinks to herself, _Only when it is convenient for me._


	2. Chapter One: Not Quite Hell

The girl who is Anna steps out onto a bastard of a field. The ground is dark. Stuck somewhere between mud and hard earth thanks to an almost constant spray of blood which soaks into it. And while the bodies do get drug out of the rings after each match, sometimes a limb will lay scattered somewhere on the bloodearth.

A pale, dirt smudged hand lies at her feet. She blinks. Sniffs the air. Steps over the limb and walks to the center of the large ring. It is gargantuan in her eyes now, but she knows The Arena is tens of times larger than this baby of a field. This is for her. For people in her age group. And size.

She looks around at the screaming fans. There aren't as many as could be found surrounding the larger rings, where the deadliest fighters practice the fine art of euthanasia. And sometimes fail. But she will not. Not today. On the far side of the ring a door that claims ancient by the wear of the wood - but is not - groans open.

Another person her size steps out. Well. 'Her size' of course being relative. He's about five inches taller than her. Twice as wide. He looks mean and angry. He looks like he wants to hit her. She wants to hit him too, but she doesn't. She doesn't want.

But she will.

He beats his chest and hoots as he steps further into the ring. Spinning around and throwing his fists up into the air. The meager crowd cheers louder. And grinning, he throws his head back and bellows out a laugh. Anna watches this. She takes it in and processes it. She decides that he will her attention.

But not because he's so desperate for any, or deserves it. Instead, it's because she dislikes him. He thinks he is special. And he isn't. She is.

Yet he casts eyes on her, with the crowd going wild he pins her with a stare and sneering smile that claims he is better and stronger than her. She is not amused by this idiotic assumption.

Like a bull, once more he bellows but this time he charges. He's large, strong. But slow. She trips him the same way she had the Girl With No Name. But he rolls with it and springs back up, spinning around to face her. Perhaps not as dull as he looked. He starts to circle but she matches him step for step. She could almost smile.

She won't. But she could. Almost.

He's focused solely on her. He doesn't pay attention to his surroundings. There's a rock she spies, a hefty chunk of stone that previous battles had loosened from the walls. Careful to adjust her strides and ignore his jibes, she leads him in one last circle and that's when he meets the rock. He stumbles over it and she leaps forward, rushing him. She shoves her shoulder in the space beneath his ribcage. With strength impossible she forces his hulking frame back.

He hits the ground hard, the breath knocked out of him, in the moment that he needs to gasp for air and recover his doom strikes. That's when the girl who is Anna carefully picks up the rock that is easily twice as large as her head in her two hands and seats herself on the boy's chest. He screams once.

Only once. And it is high pitched with fear and rage. He even attempts to surge up and throw her off but she locks strong legs around his arms and torso. She lifts the rock high. And when she brings it down on the top of his skull with as much force as she can it causes a spray. But only the first time.

After that she repeats the process over and over and over until his face is gone and blood, bone, and bits of black hair stick to the rock and paint her hands pretty colors. With the cleanest part of her upper arm she wipes at her face. Spits for good measure; she wants exactly none of his pretty red in her body. Then she drops the rock in the space where his head used to be and stands up.

The plain, rough dress they put her in is stained only minimally with red. Mostly little dots that match the spray from his skull. She wipes her hands on the front. And very calmly walks back to the door that she entered through. But it doesn't open yet.

She glances behind her. At the silent field. The crowd that stares at her beyond the protective mesh and glass. She stares back. And then they erupt into cheers and applause. She doesn't know it yet but she's the youngest female to not only survive a match like this, but kill her opponent.

Fights like this are harsh. Usually the kids beat each other around. The larger winning. Only when they reach age ten, usually, do the _real_ matches start. Hers will start tomorrow. But for now the door opens with a rumble and The Snake stands on the other side. Candy smile dripping with venom.

"My dear girl," he hisses and reaches out for her. She only just resists the urge to duck away from his grasping fingers. They crawl through her hair in a way that is supposed to soothe. It's supposed to be friendly and warm and intimate. She knocks it away. "You've done well."

His hand settles on her shoulder instead. And although this is still unpleasant she allows it. She knows what she's done. And she can do better.

"The people like you."

It's because they mistook this image of a girl that exists underneath the layer of drying blood, to be true. They look into her eyes and mistook her for a child. An innocent. And surprises are fun. So she had fun with them.

But she says, "They do." She wants to bathe now. She needs to. That Boy is drying underneath her finger nails. In her nostrils the copper-y acrid scent of blood lingers. She's not usually hungry but her stomach growls. "I require sustenance." She stops in front of the door to her chamber, turning to address The Snake in a rare show of civility.

One of his brows arches upwards. But otherwise his sugar-coated blunt fangs still gleam at her from between those thin lips of his. He asks, not kindly,

"Will that be all?"

And in a rarer show of respect, she says, "Yes. Thank you, Master." But it is a farce. Still her always neutral expression never betrays her and his smile widens. Something like pride shines in his eyes.

"Your food will arrive shortly. Eat, drink, and be _merry_ my dear girl. For tomorrow the real challenges begin." He ruffles her hair - and this time she allows it - before stepping back and turning to walk away from her.

She enters her room. And for a moment, after she closes her door and it clicks, clanks, and clunks to let her know she's shut in until the food does eventually arrive, for a brief moment she stands and thinks of That Boy with the mean eyes. She decides that this place is not hell.

But it is something close.


	3. Chapter Two: Dead Things

The following day, when the door clicks and clanks and clunks open, she's met by The Snake and he tells her that she will be fighting an adult now. A bad man. A murderer. If he waits for even a moment for her to react to that news, she doesn't notice. Or care. On a whim she wonders aloud,

"His name..." And it's caught somewhere between a question and thinly veiled demand. They are already walking towards the ring she'll be fighting in on what she will call a lovely morning, not because it is so but for the irony of it. Out of the corner of her eye she notes the sharp glance she receives from narrowed eyes.

"Does it matter?" She thinks about that, silent until they reach the rather under-whelming door. It's big and steel and bland. Nothing like the doors from yesterday. The ones summoned from Medieval castles in lands she'd never see. This was the always locked and closed back exit to an office building she'd never work in.

"No," she admits then, staring at the door and it staring back just as dispassionately. Mr. Does-It-Matter would die with or without a name. And knowing what to call him would hardly add any comfort to what she was going in there to do today. Not that she needed it. But he might.

The ring she steps out into is larger than the first. Magnificently so. And she knows this still isn't even the biggest one. Just as well she knows she'll see that one before terribly long. The lights in here are blinding though. Her eyes squint close to shut and for the first time the crowd gets to see a displeased twist to her mouth until she manages to adjust to this new environment.

There's much more debris in this one than the last. More bone, less rubble. No kiddie tricks this time. No tricks. She'd no rest the night before and she was hardly in a mood to entertain the crowds already cheering that which had been dubbed her name. **ANNA,** they roared, **ANNA ANNA ANNA!**

She stared back.

They don't actually care. They probably aren't even entirely aware of that either. They think they do. Because they yell her name in support. But they don't actually care. They're paying to watch her, _'risk her life';_ ultimately some part of them wants to watch her die in a glorious, horrible way.

Like her head crushed in with a miniature boulder.

Or the life throttled out of her while she fought and scratched and begged to get free.

She thinks she could rip this man's arm off and beat him to death with it, but it's just a theory. He steps out onto the field with a smirk that is also a leer and still manages to twist itself into a conceited, better-than-you sort of sneer. He looks at the skinny little girl that stands closer to the middle of the ring. The girl that does not shake and quake like all the cute little greenhorns they've sent to his slaughter.

"Oh you'll be a _treat!_ " he laughs, tossing the pretty knife they gave him before opening the door from one hand to the other. They don't usually provide weapons for such smalltime fights, but he'll never complain about getting the chance to carve up a pound or two of flesh. He watches her eyes track down to what he's doing with his hands.

And for half of a half of a millisecond her eyes widen. Then she calmly turns her back to him and starts to trot over to one of the scattered piles of exposed bones sticking out of the hard-packed earth. She pulls out what HAS to be the femur of one with no effort. And snaps it in half over her knee.

The smaller half she drops back to the earth, the other she keeps clutched tight in her hands, blowing away the little bits that'd splintered off. It wasn't exactly the cleanest break but this would work well for what she needed. A shadow loomed over her. And she'd heard him breathing heavily since before they ever even opened his door. (She could hear a lot of things she wasn't supposed to). But now she could swear she felt it on the back of her neck.

She didn't, of course. He was much taller than her. But his presence coupled with the heavy laborious breaths that wheezed in and out of his over-excited lungs brought about the sensation.

"It's _rude_ to turn your back on a guest," His hand is heavier than his breaths as it lands on her shoulder and spins her around. He thinks he has the upper hand and she can see that in the manic gleam in his eyes. The crooked, improper grin the cracks his face in half. One hand is raised high and ready to shove that shiny little trinket so so _far_ into every part of her anatomy. And in that moment she spares him a very very small smile.

Adults, she decides, are silly creatures. Her hand flashes forward, penetrating his unguarded middle with the sharpest part of that femur. His body locks up. Eyes widen. The grin splinters like the bone had, crumbling. His mouth drops open and the knife falls from his hand. She catches it before it hits the ground.

Faster than she'd moved to introduce that broken femur to the softest parts of his intestinal track, she yanks on the arm extending to the hand he still has on her shoulder and pulls him down to his knees so that they are on the same level. She looks him in the eyes, gripping his chin to make sure he won't dare look away.

And then. Repeatedly, she shoves his own knife deep into his gut next to and around the still protruding bone he's now clutching at with both of his trembling hands. It's odd. She almost expected him to beg and scream and cry.

But with each stab and twist he only gasps and his eyes widen. He reaches up to clamp a blood-slick hand on her shoulder again, which does nothing to steady her; he's shaking too hard. She leans forward into his body and aims the knife upward and underneath the ribs.

His last gasps for breath as one of his lungs starts to fill with blood are hot and wet and the most labored of his whole life. Mouth right next to her ear, she feels the spray of blood as he coughs roughly, and when he inhales it sounds like he's drowning. And then with a another cough and gurgling inhale his body slumps fully forward against her and he dies unfortunately in her arms.

She shoves the body off. It thumps to the ground and his lifeless blue eyes stare up at the top of the dome incasing the ring. She flicks her fingers a few times, letting the fatter drops of blood fly off before, just like yesterday, she wipes her hands on her plain, course dress.

This time she cranes her head down and lifts a part of the dress - the neckline - to wipe the blood off her face and ear. Mostly her ear. Really, he'd just _had_ to get it in her ear. And she steps over the body, walking calmly back to her side of the field. It isn't silent this time. There's mixed applause.

More of **ANNA ANNA ANNA** but also disapproving boo's. All of it is loud and insufferable. She doesn't acknowledge any of it. But as she reaches the door and it is slowly pulled open, she casts one glance behind her at Mr. Does-It-Matter. It did matter. But she'd known better.

You don't name dead things.


	4. Chapter Three: Necessities

She's in her Cell for two days before The Snake returns.

She decides to call it that because it's a Spartan room where others sit and pray the day away. And may the search for enlightenment be successfully blissful. She is not one of those people. She sits in front of the door and waits. Sometimes she moves. Using the restroom occasionally. Pacing. But mostly she sits and watches the door.

Sleep eludes her as it so often does but she doesn't have the energy to care about that. Well, she DOES have energy. Enormous amounts of it. But she _doesn't_ care. Perhaps if she'd had more sleep in her life she'd feel the ache of it's loss more acutely.

But she hadn't. And she didn't. And two days later the door cli-a-unks open, The Snake stares down at her with a surprised expression. He probably had not expected her to wait for him by the door. Directly in front of it. It unnerved him, her thousand yard stare. But he fixes his usual smile on and steps into the room.

"How have you enjoyed your days off?" And she says nothing but if she had to say something she might have said _terrible_ or perhaps even _boring._ But she says nothing and stares at him. In no particular order. "Well there's plenty more where that came from!"

A very slight crease between her brows signals either displeasure or confusion. This is The Arena. She may be young but this is a household name. She knows what it means that she's been brought here. His words sound foreign and odd to her ears.

"I do not understand," she says slowly.

"You're too good, my dear girl," he croons as he leans forward to cup her cheek. "The public love you but you need to learn restraint."

She thinks about that for a few moments while she removes his hand from her face. And then she asks, hesitantly,

"Kill them...slower?"

Like a mouth full of razors, his smile slices his face in half.

"Exactly." She nods and he nods and tells her to follow him. But change first. Out of the course dress and into the course tunic and pants. At which point she follows him out of her room and down countless corridors, each turn she memorizes, to end their journey at double doors with red paint labeling the room beyond as **_Gym_**.

She wonders what good will come from being in a gym other than that it might tamper her boundless energy. And then thinks that maybe that's really all there is to it. But she realizes that is foolish and understands that it is due to her blood. She will always have this energy, and she needs something to channel it into. Or at least that's what The Snake says. He also says,

"Plus it's a chance for you to bulk up!" She doesn't tell him that trying to do such a thing at her young age would be ill advised, were she any other type of lesser person. But she isn't. So she stares at him impassively and he smiles his smile at her hoping he can draw blood from stone. He doesn't, and realizing he won't he guides her into the room with a hand on her back, in the space between her shoulder blades

The room is large and to her nose it is overpowering with its odor. It stinks of sweat. It REEKS of sweat. Underneath that is a soft tone or blood and urine. But the problem is that it reeks of the sweat of THOUSANDS and it is making her reel. Plus the room echoes with voices that confuse her ears. The same voice calls from three directions such that it feels like her eyes betray her.

The only sign of a panic beginning to grip her is the widening of her eyes. And her pupils shrinking shrinking shrinking... She is snapped from her stupor when a shadow looms before her. There is a concentration of sweat (and blood) stink that allows her for a moment to disregard the cacophony of sound and smells bombarding her person.

Blinking slowly, she turns her gaze up, up, up and finally manages to meet dark eyes set in a mean mug. Wild brown hair spikes and juts from his head. He's got to be at least seven feet tall, and built like a bulldozer. One of his hands could easily wrap around The Snake's skull and still allow for his fingers to overlap. He's a glorious specimen of man in some awfully flawed sort of perfect way.

She should hit him. She should hit him until he bleeds. Or until she does. He looks capable of that. He looks like he wants to hit her. Not in the way that That Boy had, or even the way Mr. Does-It-Matter had. He looks at her like she looks at him. Sizing her up, finding her worth. She feels an urge to tell him she knows how to kill as well, to tell him what she'd done to Mr. DIM and to The Girl and That Boy.

She needs to know if he smells the blood on her like she smells the blood on him. He says,

"Kaa," with a chuckle, dark eyes gleaming. "Is this _Her?_ " And if she were hardly expressive she might have allowed a brow to arch. As it were she barely felt enough to function. Though the importance he placed on his addressing herself was fairly surprising.

The Snake - Kaa - nodded and smiled up at the behemoth. He smiled back.

"Well," he continued with an upbeat attitude and a clap of his hands that was like thunder in her ears. "It's a pleasure to mee-" She almost wasn't even aware of her reaction. One moment her eyes were filled with the image of him - _how The Arena managed to house such a giant was beyond her_ \- and then she saw one of his anvil-sized hands coming at her.

She couldn't blink, gasp or take a breath before she sent a punch into his gut that she felt rattling in her teeth.

He gasped, choked, coughed, and rocking back and forth on his feet, slowly fell back to the floor. He wasn't terribly old, at least he wouldn't consider himself old (though considering how long he'd been in The Arena he was very much a seasoned veteran), but never in any of the years of his conscious existence had he been dealt a blow so God-awfully painful. He kept trying to breathe and kept choking on every breath.

"Nice one," he finally wheezed out, holding a hand up in the air, his thumb extended and pointed up. A few more gasps brought his lungs an almost steady flow of oxygen. Eventually he managed to prop himself up on one elbow. "So no sudden movements. Gotcha."

"Anna, this is Ralph," she takes a deep breath and let's her arm drop. She almost feels she should offer the man a hand up. She doesn't. He picks himself up and dusts himself off. This time he offers a wave in greeting, and though he smiles his eyes are wary. She doesn't miss the way he cradles one gargantuan hand to his abdomen. "Ralph-"

"So _you're_ the little gingersnap that's been taking walking meat bags to shit town!" She doesn't feel very much about anything. Not even for Kaa. Not really. It would take effort and care to dislike him. But this Ralph man. This Savage that calls to the part of her that awakens when warm blood is spilt by her hand. He makes her...

Excited.

She says,

"We must fight." And he laughs but she just stares at him.

"Kid," he starts. "I would be honored to fight you. But I think that battle is better saved for a ring." He exchanges words she pays no heed to with Kaa. Instead she notices how everyone is staring at them. Her. She stares back until, mostly unnerved, they turn away.

Ralph leaves them and it is only then that she turns to Kaa and says,

"I do not like this place."

"Well that's too bad, my dear girl" he hisses - though it is an attempt to coo - back at her. "See, you'll be getting familiar with every inch of it soon. And gladly."

She disagrees. Strongly. She shakes her head. She tells him _No no no,_ until he says,

"Your next match isn't for two months." And it is only because he is looking directly into her eyes that he can see it this time when a sense of panic begins to grip her. She holds it at bay remarkably well. Even her breathing stays calm and even. She continues to impress him. She says,

"I see." And then it seems she's calm. If he didn't know any better be might have believed her.

"You're too good, my dear girl," he repeats himself. "If we keep throwing them at you you'll just keep tearing them apart." There's a heat in her chest crawling it's way slowly slowly throughout her body. It makes her skin tingle and her fingers twitch and her teeth ache.

"Isn't that the point," but it's not a question because she KNOWS that's what the point is.

"Restraint," he almost sings, "Brutality AND grace, my girl. It's easy and you're a savage; but make it pretty. Make it a show."

She could kill him right now. Snap his neck. If she punched him as hard as she'd punched Ralph she knew it would cause his organs to liquefy.

"What is it you need, my girl?"

"Knowledge," she says without thinking. And that smile of blades cuts across his face again, flashing in the fluorescent lighting.

"And I need your compliance. I promise you, dear girl, so long as you do as I say, I will give you that which you require."

Promises are meaningless. Promises from him are especially meaningless. But she nods and tells him,

"Yes, Master."


	5. Chapter Four: Messages and Sponsors

"So guess what I heard." It's not a question so much as an introduction to what she's going to say anyway. But, obligingly, the 'young' woman smiles at her even younger counterpart, nodding for her to continue. "I heard there's an eight-year-old ripping her way through the competition in the lower rings."

This surprises her. She's usually the first to know these sorts of things. She's as much a veteran in this place as The Wrecker. She's one of The Champions. _How_ had she missed this?

"Oh?" She tries to sound next to uninterested. Cool and collected and slightly amused.

"Uuhh-huh! I saw her last fight. She was SO strong!"

"How strong was she?" She exaggerates the question for a comedic timing sort of thing. And she grins when the girl just rolls her eyes. But then the girl grins too. She says,

"She snapped a femur in half. Effortlessly." Her companion whistles lowly.

"Impressive," she's doing remarkably well concealing her emotions. Van was right though, that IS a ton of potential. It had sent a thrill through her, just that one bit of information. But she stayed calm, knowing The Sponsors - the smart ones (the ones that feared her) - wouldn't allow for them to meet. Not until they were certain she was TRULY any good.

"Who's her sponsor?" She asked, thinking of them. Van scowled then.

"Kaa."

She curses. Van says, "I know, I know. It'll be ok, keep it cool. Err, hot. Whatever."

"You're right," The Sorceress sighs, taking in a frosty breath to calm herself. Frosty because the brief moment of displeasure dropped the temperature around her a good few(hundred) degrees. Ice crackles as her touch takes away it's power. It mists into nothing. "My apologies."

"Whatever snowflake," Van scoffs, waving away the apology. "Like you give a fuck." The Sorceress giggles, heading dipping in a nod, mouth set in a gleaming smile.

"Right again!" She chirps, "I don't give a single fuck! You're so smart Van." Van sneers back at her.

"And you're so-"

Something else chirps. Or screams. Wails, maybe. An alarm. It's a call that Van doesn't get to approve before it appears on the windows of the private box they were seated in. They were watching a battle. Between an upstart with a penchant for axes and a not-quite-champion veteran fighter The Sorceress liked a rather lot. He was also a magic user.

She won't see his demise at the hands of the brute he's losing to. The video message was an emergency, that much was apparent. A wide eyed man starts babbling away immediately.

"We're i-in-incredibly sorry miss. We DON'T know how it happened, we swear he-he just stumbled in an-and collapsed and-"

" _Is that Van are you talking to Van?_ "

" _Sir you need to lay back now or you could seriously injure yourself-_ "

"VANELLOPE!" Ralph's smiling face fills the screen. Blood stains his teeth and lips. "Hey! How are ya? Who's winnin' the fight? And Elsa what a pleasure, you're looking blue as always!"

"Thanks," and as sarcastic as she tries to make it, it comes out genuine. Ralph is a hard person not to love. "And Merlin is losing." A cheer erupts from beneath their feet. "Correction, just lost."

"Ralph..." Vanellope sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose and taking a deep breath. She lets it out and says, "Why are bloody?"

"Funny story, that," he begins with a chuckle that isn't totally due to humor. "See I was in the Gym-"

"You hurt yourself working out?" Van snorts, grinning. "I thought you had FINALLY outgrown your Stinkbrain status..."

"Hey that's not fair! I didn't hurt myself working out, I got hit on the way ouCH! Damnit man that _hurts!_ " he whips his head to the side to glare at who the two women assume is one of the medics.

" _Sir we need to treat your injury._ "

"Well do it AFTER I talk to my ladies."

"Not your lady," Elsa sighs.

"Ewww I'm not a _lady._ "

"Anyway," Ralph continues. "So I ran into someone on my way out. Kaa. You gals remember him right?" Elsa stares at the screen and his smiling face. She scowls. "So I ran into him and we started chatting and he was telling me about his new position with Shere Khan on account of some big find and-"

"Doofus skip to the part where you got injured working out."

"I TOLD you already I DIDN'T-" he takes a breath and blows it out, glaring at the giggling young woman that keeps him comfortable in this place. She's probably the only sponsor that's not some manner of selfish, awful beast. She's his sponsor for this reason. "I got punched by his new fighter."

"The eight-year-old?" And she's laughing but in all actuality she's amazed. Van is positively cackling.

"THE EIGHT-YEAR-OLD KICKED YOUR ASS!"

"She only hit me once! I surprised her and... I surprised her and she hit me so hard and fast... She's strong. I like her!"

" _She broke your ribs._ "

"Shut up, nurse! Anyway, Van, Elsie, I'm gonna go let these nerds patch me up and we'll watch the rerun of Merlin's last stand later."

"I'm game."

"Sounds good to me, Stinkbrain."

"You're not seriously going to call me that again... Right?"

"You got beat up by a child. Stinkbrain for life." Ralph wines and curses but Van just smiles. They end the call and through the windows they see Merlin's body getting removed from the ring. Except for his head, which the winner kicks around, laughing.

"I can't wait to kill him," Elsa admits, softly, but with heated eyes. She'd really been close with the poor old wizard.

"I can't wait for you to kill him either, but that'll have to wait. He's still not good enough for a Champion Trial."

"Whatever you say, Boss," Elsa smiles at her. Vanellope was the only sponsor she trusted with her life. Perhaps it was why she and Ralph got along so well. Or their love of violence. She stands and stretches, saying, "I'm going to head back to my suite. See if... that filthy Snake, would be willing to meet me to this girl."

"It's not gonna happen you know. He won't let something so valuable slip away."

"He let me..."

"He won't make the same mistake twice."

"You flatter me."

"I don't."

"Anyway, do call for me when Ralph arrives. Or don't, I'm sure you two can... entertain yourselves. " she winks and gets to witness a pretty blush color Van's cheeks. And she leaves the room in search of information. Mind filled with conjured images of a fighter girl bathed in blood.


	6. Chapter Five: Hobbies and Sundaes

"Well well well if it isn't my least favorite shit stain," Kaa coed with a snarling sneer as Vanellope strolled up to him. He had been feeling peckish and hit the more tourist packed part of The Arena. The Mess, was what he called it. Although the name changed depending on who you asked. Van called it The Cantina; well, Elsa called it that, Van called it The Can.

It was funny to her.

"Thanks. I am the shit, right?" She plopped down in the plastic chair across the small round table from him. She was careful not to let their knees knock. For all the smiles she wore, the feelings were mutual. Abandoning plays at pleasantries, he spits out his next words through gritted teeth.

"What. Do you. Want?"

"Um, yes I'd love a sundae. Like a ridiculous fucking sundae. Chocolate out the wazoo. Sprinkles, stupid amounts of sprinkles. I'm gonna need nuts on this and all kinds of fruit pieces. Plus whipped cream and chocolate drizzle. Can you do that for me?" She's not speaking to him, but to the waitress that walks up to them.

Vanellope is, after all, one of the most social Sponsors ever to have come to The Arena. The people that participate in the maintaining of The Arena, especially the ones that keep The Can, have all (or at least mostly) met her. This waitress has met her only once, because she's still nervous and trying to please.

Afraid any wrong move could put her life at risk. And it could. Not with Van, necessarily, but nevertheless she's careful. Van smiles real big for her, to let her know she's done well. The waitress smiles back, though it's strained, and scampers off to place the order.

"Still a child I see," Kaa smiles.

"Still an old man," Van blinks innocently, "My, you ARE getting quite old; your skin looks like scales! No wonder Elsa calls you a snake." And for the first time his eyes light up. But briefly. Then his expression cools.

"And how IS The Sorceress?"

"Still a Champion," Van shrugs.

"I'm so glad I could train her up, just so that you can take the credit for it. Let me guess, you want to talk about my new fighter?"

"Those wrinkles ain't just for show, well who woulda thunk it?" Van grins, leaning her elbows on the table and propping her head in her hands. "So what's she like, Wiseman?"

"I'm not telling you anything, you despicable little twat!" Kaa's eyes narrow into angry little slits that, try as they might, can't cut into Van as they do other people. She smiles back at him easily. Almost warmly. If he didn't know her better it would be nearly believable.

"Elsa's quite interested in her."

It draws him up short. For half a second he flounders for some composure. But he regains himself and mimics Vanellope's pose. But not really. He sets his chin on steepled fingers.

"Oh?" She's not kept it a secret her distaste for him. But for all he tried he couldn't return it. He hated many things, especially certain people, but The Sorceress was not one of them. In fact he adored her.

"Yup," she enjoyed his eye twitch when she popped her 'p' just for him. "I told her about that stunt Lil' Red pulled against The Skinner. With the femur." His grin was more natural as he leaned forward.

"Oh I rather enjoyed that myself," he chuckled. "She's a natural, that dear girl of mine. I'm quite proud. And pleased."

"Oh I bet. She did a number on ol' Stinkbrain."

"Ralph?" His brows crept upwards, smile crawling across his face. "Do tell."

"You were there, so I heard it," Van sat back and sighed. "Why are Wednesdays so busy?"

"Is he alright?" It isn't concern that drives the question. But curiosity.

"A few broken ribs, but otherwise fine. I swear, he's useless!" She complains. "Ooh my sundae!" He lets out an irritated sigh as she grins hugely at the waitress. He doesn't spare her a glance, just glaring at the twenty-something-year-old shoving spoonfuls of ice cream into her face.

"And about The Sorceress?"

"Oh," he found it especially disturbing how she wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her sports jacket. Filth. "Yeah. I think she wants to train her, or something. I dunno. She's interesting."

"You have _no_ idea. And you know, as much as I'd relish Elsa training that girl to one day kill her," he chuckled, heartily, at the thought. "I'd rather hand feed the little bitch to The Beast in the Basement before I allowed you or _YOUR_ Champions anywhere near her."

"He has a name."

"He had a name."

"It's Adam."

"I don't CARE! You stupid fucking cunt! Don't you get it?! I'll kill her myself before I let you NEAR her!" Slamming his hands down on the table only serves to rattle the dish of half-eaten sundae slightly. "You'll stay away from her, and tell your little Champions-"

"Not very little..."

"-to stay away from her. When I'm done with her... You better watch your back. I don't need two Champions to _CRUSH_ you. I can't wait for it. I savor every moment leading up to your demise."

"You need a hobby." With a snarl and one well placed slap, her sundae tumbles and crashes to the floor. She watches, in slow motion as the dish shatters. "MY SUNDAE!" And then he stalks out of the room, while Vanellope calms herself and watches him leave with an uncharacteristically serious frown. "Well... Elsa's gonna kill me."

"M-m-miss Vanellope we're so sorry terribly TRULY sorry, w-we'll rep-place the order we'll-"

"Nah, don't worry bout it, Sweets. My fault." She slapped down a bill. Five times worth the damage done to her poor poor sundae. "And keep the change." She stands from her seat and smiles warmly at the girl nearly in tears. Even waves as she skips away. And it isn't until she gets into the deeper guts of The Arena that her serious frown returns and she slows to walk.

This was bad. She knew Kaa was holding grudges, but she didn't think he'd ever do anything about it. She hadn't thought he _could._ But if all else failed Elsa wouldn't. She couldn't. She was too strong, too experienced. Even for that bull of a girl. She should be. She IS. She's the most powerful magic user to have ever fought her way through The Arena.

There's no way... But just in case, she should probably inform her Champions of the situation. Yeah, yeah she could do that. She would do that. It would be ok.

 _She's just a little girl._


	7. Chapter Six: Learning

A week passes for her in silence. Although that's incorrect. It isn't silent for her. She can hear always a low rubble of applause, a constant shift and pounding of feet across every inch of the wing she stays in. She can hear the contestants in rooms around her.

Some cry.

Most cry.

A few laugh.

There's prayer.

Manic chatter.

The urge to partake in any of that is entirely nonexistent for her, however. And so she sits in her silence and watches the door. Until, seven days in to her tireless vigilance, there is the sound of timid feet shuffling outside of her door. She could stand. But she won't. And she doesn't.

The door cli-a-unks open and a young boy peeks his head inside. They catch upon those cold cold eyes of the newest fighter and the young boy flinches. The girl who is Anna decides he is much like a mouse. The Mouse shoulders the door open and almost stumbles in.

The clothes he wears hang off of his frame oddly. The blue hat on his head too big for him, flopping over his large ears. She can't see his hands, the sleeves of his ragged red shirt hiding them from view, but he's holding a large box filled with... something. It's far too heavy for him, but he's far too timid to ask for help. And so he grunts and groans and huffs and puffs and finally trips over his too-long pants legs and spills the contents of the box into her floor.

It's books. Only books.

She wonders if perhaps he is her next opponent and this is a bribe to keep air in his lungs. It won't help. She bends and picks up a book, rather thick. _Grays Anatomy._ It isn't something she knows and yet she would swear it is familiar. She thinks that she could force this through the skull of the now-stuttering Mouse if she tried hard enough.

Which wouldn't be hard at all.

"Am I to kill you?" She drops the book and steps over to him, picking him up by the back of his neck. He wails and kicks and she stares at him. Tears track down his pinked cheeks and he's hiccuping, trying to beg for his life. "You won't be entertaining."

"I-I-I-"

"No," she drops him unceremoniously. And she turns to pick up the book she had dropped, and another close to it. "You won't be entertaining." She repeats with finality. Which seems all she cares to say as she picks up a few more books and strides over to her bedding. Bed seems too generous a word, really.

Cot is more fitting.

"Y-you're not going to k-k-kill me?" He picks himself up slowly, staring at her with wide eyes that beg her to assuage him. She blinks slowly and turns back around to consider him. Her eyes pick him apart. She turns back away and dumps the books onto her cot climbing in afterward. She spreads them out before her and opens each of them.

"Now you're just being rude," he declares, scrubbing the tears from his cheeks. Unsatisfied with her silence, the Mouse steps closer to her. She doesn't look at him but her body tenses and twitches. He doesn't notice, striding closer and closer. Until he trips again just before he reaches her. "Ow. Ok, never been more glad I'm not a fighter."

"You're bleeding," Anna turns the pages of all the books, glancing only briefly at the Mouse. His hat had fallen off, revealing dark brown hair to match his dark brown eyes.

"I know right? I can barely stand the sight of a scraped knee, I could NEVER do what y-you do!" He pulls his hat back onto his head as he laughs.

"You're lying."

"W-what?"

"Not a matter of could," her answer is accompanied by a hard stare. Or maybe it's just her usual stare. Either way it pins him to the floor, not quite able to pick himself up. "More a matter of won't." She turns back to her books, flipping all the pages again.

"I guess... I guess I never thought about it like that..." or at all really. He was one of those children that had lost all family, and as an orphan he was of use to those that operated The Arena. A lowly servant, worth less than dirt in any Ring. The only action he would ever see would be from the safety of the stands or perhaps a booth.

Anna said nothing.

"I'm Fievel." she blew out a breath and gave him her attention.

"Go away, Mouse," she hissed in her best imitation of Kaa, but without the smile and sugar sprinkles. He stared at her with wide eyes.

"It's... it's Fievel..."

"Leave, _Fievel,_ " there's a temptation to tac on a threat, but she resists and settles for a glare that is particularly mean, grounding out, "Now." He flinches and starts to back up... but trips over his pants again and falls over the box he'd yet to pick up out of the floor.

"Owww," he groaned, sitting up only slightly to cup the back of his head, hat falling into his eyes. She lifted the hat from his face, staring through him as she squatted by his side. He should have retreated. But he was frozen. Fear or surprise or awe held him fast.

"Fievel, how long do you wish to live?"

"Wh-what?" He's in the air, and it's her hand locked tight around his throat. In that moment she can see The Girl. Not, not _see_ her but in his eyes filling with tears once more and filled with terror. In the way his hands squeeze around her arm, nails beginning to dig into her skin. She can see The Girl. She could have mercy this time.

But she won't.

"Anna, dear girl," or perhaps she will. " _What_ are you doing?" She blinks, slowly turning her head to consider Kaa. He's wearing his usual sharp smile made of honeyed poison and blunt fangs. His eyelids are lowered, almost entirely, twin thin slivers of gleaming eye glaring at her from beneath his short lashes. She blinks again, turning back to consider The Mouse. Fievel.

"Playing," she says, noting the way Fievel's eyes are beginning to roll into his head, hands falling from her arm. She drops him and he falls a boneless heap to the floor, gasping for air. Choking and coughing. She watches him struggle, watches him beg air into his lungs.

"Boy!" He strides into her Cell and stops before Fievel. She has this sense that he wishes to kick at Fievel. She finds it ironic, The Snake poised and more than ready to strike The Mouse. She thinks things are as they should be. Except that no blow comes to pass just yet. "Why are you still here?"

"I-" he coughs, wheezes, rubbing a hand at the imprint of Anna's circling his throat. But Kaa continues,

"The door was left open, and I suppose that's HER fault, hmmmm?"

"I'm sorry I-" The Snake strikes. A swift kick to the ribs.

"Get out!" he snarls, just shy of a shout. He bends to gather up a handful of the back of Fievel's overly large shirt, shaking him, "And tell Tony we'll be taking our business elsewhere!" He tosses him back to the floor, towards the door. And although Fievel stumbles and trips twice over his pants legs, he manages to pick himself up and scurry out and away from the Cell.

"Just goes to show," he ran a hand over his thinning slicked back hair, unnecessarily smoothing it down as he toed at the books spilled into the floor with a frown. "You really can't pay for any good help these days. Wouldn't you agree, Anna?"

But she's not standing by him anymore. Already she sits upon her cot surrounded by her books, flipping the pages of each at a sedate pace. He doesn't honestly expect her to answer and so she doesn't really bother pretending to listen. He does pretend to be offended. It's as meaningless as his promises, and still she pays him no mind.

"Dear girl," he finally lets out a deep huff of a sigh, splitting his lips to bare his teeth. Eyes hard. "We've got things to do today. Places to be." He takes careful steps closer to her. Smarter than The Mouse. He knows her boundaries. Or, he knows them better.

"What," she says, absently, busy devouring ink on page. "Why?"

"Tests. To know you better." She blinks but rapidly, finally pulling her eyes from the pages. This interests her. And so she says,

"Alright."

* * *

The Nurse is blonde. Incredibly beautiful. Incredibly serious. And incredibly unafraid.

She approaches Her calmly and perhaps she hasn't heard of Her, but regardless she should know. Kaa stands back but still close enough to deliver suspicious glares towards The Nurse when she tells the girl who is Anna she's going to take her blood. And The Nurse stares her down, ignoring Kaa entirely and inserting a needle into a vein.

"What is your name?"

"They call me Anna."

"I did not ask what they call you," She says this slowly, taking the needle out and swiping a cotton swab over the droplet of blood that seeks escape. "I asked you for your name."

"... Katya," she answers eventually. Watching The Nurse. She says,

"Good girl," and she smiles but it's not sweet. "That wasn't so difficult! Now Katya, my... medical... associates are going to want to run a few tests while I check this out." She held up the vial of blood she'd just taken, then jerked her head towards a rather rotund man yelling at a tall skeletal woman. Both wore the pretty white coats that claimed a higher understanding of medicine and the God game of saving lives. "Please," she intoned this. "Try not to kill them?"

Anna felt such an odd sensation. An urge. One to smile. She didn't of course, not quite understanding the admittedly incredibly strange sensation. But it was there nonetheless and something to consider as she watched The Nurse walk away, head cocking to listen to the deep grumbling mess of language that was moving closer to her.

"Dear girl," Kaa hissed at her, she blinked and turned to face him. He gestured to the still bickering duo in lab coats. "This is Dr. Jookiba and his esteemed colleague Miss-"

Miss- clears her throat loudly. And continuously. So much so that Anna had the good fortune to watch Kaa's face pucker and turn an interesting shade. _Maroon? Puce? Carmine?_

"Uh," she chuckled. She was the only one. "That's actually _Lady._ "

"... right," he drew out, pulling his lips back into a smile although his face remained that color She couldn't name. "His _esteemed_ colleague, the ever," his smile widened enough to hurt. " _Lovely_ , Lady Amzy."

"Yes," she sniffed, sharp nose in the air. "Quite. And I suppose you'd be that... oh what's it they're calling her?" She muttered and mumbled to herself. Anna heard it but the mutters were as manic as those she heard from the Cells surrounding her own.

"WHO CARES!" Dr. Jookiba's voice was deep like rolling thunder and booming out from him just as loud. Plus heavily accented. One that called to Her. "She's an animal, a beast, an unstoppable KILLING MACHINE!"

She called out to him in a language half forgotten. He stopped his laughing and ranting, eyes meeting hers. Questioning, he called back.

"What? What's she saying!?" Lady Amzy snapped, impatient but eyeing the two with equal parts interest and suspicion. "JUMBA!"

Her shriek earned her a glare that flashed a century of memories before her eyes. She quieted, sniffing and tilting her nose back into the air. Beside her Kaa attempted biting back a thin smile. He allowed them to speak in tongues for a few minutes more before calling out to his dear little Champion-to-be,

"Anna?" She paused in her rarest of acts, turning to watch him out of the corner of her eye. "Dear girl that's quite enough chatter. Let the nice folk do their jobs?" He even tried posing it as a suggestion. But she _was_ such a dear, smart thing. He appreciated that about her, he really did. Her head jerked in a brief nod and she turned back to the doctor, silent.

"Where... did you find this girl?" Dr. Jookiba was still staring down at Anna, but with wonder.

"Funny thing that. She found me."

* * *

 **I haven't felt the need to speak the whole time but the Anna Katya thing is probably confusing...**

 **I've been careful to call her "the girl who is Anna" because that is who she is. Who or whatever she was before The Arena is dead and gone. And as we all know, you don't name dead things. So that _was_ her name, but she _is_ Anna.**

 **To anyone reading this and enjoying or hating it, thanks so much for your time! I swear I won't waste much on these if I can help it!**


	8. Chapter Seven: Meetings and Threats

"It's hardly my fault the oaf got injured," The Sorceress griped at her younger counterpart. "Why should I be punished?"

"Silly," Van giggled. "This isn't punishment. If I were going to punish you I'd lock you in a sauna." The elder woman scoffed, and Van giggled once more. "Oh don't be such a sourpuss! Don't you _want_ to visit our poor bedridden Ralphie-poo?"

"Probably about as much as he wants to be bedridden."

"Well it's his own damn fault for going into a fight with broken ribs."

"You're right. It is. And yet here I am, being forced into visitation. Almost like a punishment. Isn't that strange?"

"Oooh stop being so blue!"

"Funny," she intoned, glaring only coolly at the still-giggling brunette. "You and Ralph with those blue jokes just... so... so funny. I'm literally dying of laughter on the inside."

"I know. We both do. It's why we continue to make them."

"Sometimes I really dislike you both."

"Now if that were true you wouldn't have agreed to visit with me, because we both know you chose to do this. But go ahead! Prove me wrong."

"..."

"That's what I thought. And here we are!" Van pushed the doors to the medical bay open with unnecessary enthusiasm and force, causing them to slam against the walls rather loudly. This brought a few heads swiveling in their direction but upon sighting the young Sponsor they all went back to their work. The Wrecker was known behind closed med bay doors as The Reckless, so Van was a common sight here. In fact, so common were she and her two Champions that The Reckless Wrecker had his own reserved cot for his nearly biweekly injuries. For the most part the staff could even handle his temper tantrums with very little difficulty by this point.

No questions were asked or pleasantries exchanged with said staff as Van and Elsa navigated through the area to where Ralph was (unwillingly) resting. Well, almost resting.

"-sure is good to see a familiar face! Specially one so cute as yours!" Elsa was tempted by the sudden sour look upon her Sponsor's face to ask her _trouble in paradise?_ but wisely reconsidered and settled for a very small, amused smile instead. Van on the other hand quickened her pace, face beginning to turn red as she moved to shove aside the screen that pretended for privacy in the wide open space of the front part of med bay.

"RALPH!" She cries out and it startles the mountain of a man sitting on the edge of his bed so much he nearly falls off. He just barely catches himself and cranes his head around to offer a smile. It's wide and comfortable and not at all nervous. And considering he was just sweet talking someone they both assumed to be female, he was remarkably calm in this instance. "Who ya talkin' to?"

Van was notoriously good at pretending she wasn't emotional with over-expressions of enthusiasm. And Ralph was notoriously good at reading her. He hadn't always been but ah, even Stinkbrains can learn. Or so Van had informed her once. He turned around entirely, settling his legs on the hospital bed - which was really just a bed from an empty basic suite in the lower levels, glorified with a new pair of sheets and a metal frame - which makes it creak ominously as he leans towards her and reaches out with one of his too-large hands to gingerly cradle her face.

"What's wrong Vanellope?" She's started to glare at him but she's not pulling away from his hand. She loves his hands. Loves how big they are, how big he is. Mostly because she knows better than anyone that despite his gargantuan hulk, he's a big softy. And he's most gentle with her. So she glares at him only, leaning her face into his warm, calloused palm.

"Who are you speaking with, Ralph?" She says it lowly and slowly. He blinks and a grin works it's way across his cheeks. A proud one at that.

"Oh, just my most favorite little gingersnap!" Van scowls at the bright tone and nickname. But before she can open her mouth to tell him just what she thinks about all that, his 'favorite little gingersnap' steps around his bed and into sight. And. It's _Her_. And whatever Van had been about to say, instead comes,

"Holy fucking shit. Dude, you're _friends_ with her!?"

"How could I not befriend someone that can snap a few of my ribs as easily as I snap necks and spines?" And only then does Elsa know who this girl is. She doesn't seem to mind the fact that Ralph and Van are discussing her as she stands before not two feet from them. She has eyes only for Elsa. She's such an odd little thing. Freckled and willowy, brightly colored eyes and hair a shade lighter than a new penny. She should be cute. She should be approachable.

She is not either of these things.

Her bright eyes are bright only in color - which Elsa would call teal, not because it is but because that is the closest shade she can think of to compare - but otherwise they're. Cold. And Elsa, more than anyone else, knows cold and knows it well. She's never felt such an urge to shiver in her life. _Not once._

"Your skin is blue." She twitches. Closes her eyes to let out a sigh. This isn't even a joke, merely an observation made by a child, and yet it still makes her want to scowl and curse. At times her magic and what it had done to her body can be an annoyance. She opens her eyes and the girl has stepped closer. It makes her oddly uncomfortable. Perhaps that's just her good sense warning her of the presence of danger. Regardless, she resists the urge to retreat. Some part of her warns that retreat would be bad.

It would be seen as weakness. And weakness would make her a target.

"It is," Elsa agreed, attempting a smile and failing. "And yours is freckled." The girl doesn't look at her own skin and agree. Instead she continues to watch Elsa. Watch as her failed smile falls into an expression that is mostly uncertain, somewhat guarded, and a touch uncomfortable. Watch as her eyes - and they're red - flick to the two other people closest to them. And they're busy with each other by now, Van tending to her behemoth. Her eyes flick back and they're stone cold. "What are you doing here?"

The girl blinks once, gesturing only with an incline of her head towards Ralph. As if that is answer enough. It isn't. Elsa dares to take a small step closer, face turning colder than her eyes. She knows cold. She knows it well.

"What business do you have with The Wrecker?"

The girl blinks very slowly and turns to look at Van and Ralph. And watching Her pick them apart is almost more uncomfortable than having it done to herself. Eventually she casts cold, dead eyes upon Elsa once more. She thinks, for a moment, that she sees a spark in there. Something that could almost be human. Normal. This is what she thinks, and only for a moment.

"I wish to fight him."

"I see-"

"Why is it blue?" And this is a perfect opportunity to showcase her own power. To subtly threaten this, this fucking ANIMAL away from her and hers. To impress this child and gain her attention. Only on her.

"This," she lifts a hand in the air, conjuring a ball of packed ice and magical energy that floats above her palm. "I'm The Sorceress." And there it is again. That almost-human spark. She can identify it in this moment as the girl steps closer. It's interest. Teal eyes meet hers and she wonders if the girl realizes she's snarling. Or maybe that's a smile. Whatever it is, it's certainly a threat and she tenses, ready for a showdown. Ready to strike this girl down viciously. Put an end to her premature reign of terror.

"ANNA!" The shout breaks the girl - Anna - out of whatever trance Elsa's magic had put her in. Her lips cover her teeth and her expression returns to its resting stoicism.. She straightens from the aggressive half-crouch she'd fallen into upon sight of the magic and Elsa herself straightens up. A glance at Van reveals she'll be having a long talk with her Sponsor about what almost just happened. "My dear girl..."

Kaa. She'd hoped to avoid him unless absolutely necessary.

"Master," Anna intones, but her eyes don't leave Elsa. Even when Kaa very rudely overlooks the company to kneel before his charge and whisper what Elsa assumes are threats into her ear, she knows that Anna stares through him. Looking at her. Only at her. "Understood." Kaa stands and offers a sneer to - he even spits in the direction of - Vanellope. And to Elsa he offers a smile.

"So sorry she bothered you... good folk. It won't happen again. _Ever._ " His sharp glance to Anna goes unnoticed. Still staring at Elsa. Only at Elsa. And then he clamps his bony-fingered hand around Anna's shoulder and steers her away. Hissing at her under his breath.

"... I think that went well." Elsa just sighs and shakes her head. "What do you think, Vanellope?"

"I think you need rest, Stinkbrain," Now Ralph groans and sighs and begins to protest. Van has eyes only for Elsa. And a strange smile on her face. "Come along, my dear blue friend. We've much to discuss."


	9. Chapter Eight: Challenges

"Master." he wants to hit her. She is entirely certain of this. His teeth are bared and a constant stream of curses hiss from between them. This is of no consequence to her. Should he lay a single hand on her in anger she can destroy him. Not like she'd done to The Girl, or That Boy or even Mr. DIM. He's promised her his life, and his promises are worthless, but she can make an honest man out of The Snake.

She can turn him into a meaty paste smeared across the floor, walls or ceiling. She can liquefy his organs with a single strike and watch as he vomits them out in chunks of gore and hot sticky life. She can rip his spine from his body and whip him to death with it. Those last two assuming he lives long enough after her initial strike to do either.

"What, _girl_? What do you want?"

She did not want things. She desired for nothing. On occasion she required for sustenance. Recently she required knowledge. Very rarely she required sleep. Wants were not a thing she knew. Yet,

"I want to kill her."

He stops short. His grip on her shoulder does not stop her but, obligingly, she stops for him. She looks up at him. And he's baring his mouthful of razors in a mockery of a smile now. But there's a strange light in his eyes.

"Who?"

"The blue one." Those razors cut across his face, lips splitting wider to accommodate them. He even chuckled. Then he removed his hand from her shoulder and the girl who is Anna allowed him to ruffle her hair.

"Dear girl, if you believe nothing I've ever told you before, believe me now - you most certainly shall kill her. But only when the time is right." She hears him, listens to his words and understands them. She knows he means that The Sorceress will feel death creeping upon her only when The Snake feels it is convenient for him. But that isn't good enough. That woman is a challenge. The first one yet that could prove truly difficult. That one named Ralph - The Sorceress had called him The Wrecker - had caught her eye with his hulk and strength.

But he did not have that unnatural presence about him like The Sorceress did. Her aura was wild and Anna wanted, SHE WANTED, to crush it. She'd never wanted. And the fact The Sorceress made her want was phenomenal. It was interesting. The girl who is Anna was interested in her. She wanted to split her open and see how she ticked. She needed to know if her magic would keep her living under circumstances that others might find to be entirely fatal. She wanted to see how far the blue extended.

Were the organs blue? Or perhaps purple? Or was it one of those shades that the girl who is Anna can comprehend only with her superior eyes and, as the doctors had told her, impossible brain? There's so much she doesn't know yet, about The Sorceress. About herself. Her capabilities...

"When?"

"No time soon, dear," he'd begun walking and she'd followed but she stops short once more. A very inhuman growl begins rumbling in her chest. She's snarling and blood starts to tickle the back of her tongue as her teeth start to bleed and shift. "What, are you upset now? I wasn't aware you could feel anything."

"I want to fight her, NOW."

"And a week ago you wanted to fight The Wrecker. Dear girl, you are but young and naive, rash and at times irrational. And above all, you are stronger than any creature in the great shining light of this complex."

He's right, of course. She understands this. The logic of it soothes her aggression, if for the moment. She licks and sucks the blood from her teeth, content to leave them crooked for the moment as she takes up her duty to keep in step with him. He isn't leading her towards her Cell. This she is certain of, having memorized the path to and from it on her various excursions about these lower levels. On her first excursion, in fact. He's leading her away from it, deeper into the bowels of The Arena. Places she knows nothing of. Places that few know anything of.

Places that few wish to know.

"Fortunately for you," The Snake begins again. "I wish to make you stronger than even the creatures we hide in the dark and dirty corners of this place comparable to Hell."

"Where are we going?"

He chuckles, razors gleaming off of the light they pass under. And each light is farther and farther away from the previous. In the shadows she sees cobwebs, and spider webs with fat arachnids that no one bothers to put to rest. She certainly won't.

"To the dark and dirty places of course. Underneath The Arena is where we keep our monsters," he comes to a heavy steel door with faded warnings in red. It's covered in a layer of thick dust that's been disturbed only about the handle and locks. As it is disturbed now by bony fingers filled with jangling keys. He pulls the door open with a flourish and forever sharp smile, gesturing grandly for her to enter and descend into depths that stink of age.

"Monsters..." She doesn't disbelieve him. Monsters are very real and she should know.

"Yes, my dear girl. Monsters!" He laughs again and there is no humor. Satisfaction perhaps. But no humor. "I want to make you into one of these. And knowing you're already halfway there is a treat, indeed. But with a bit of luck, time, and the proper teacher, why... I believe I can make you into quite the fearsome beast."

She is not bold. She wonders, briefly, if it was and is bold of her to have assumed that she was already 'quite the fearsome beast'. She can think only that it is honest. Because she is a beast. And she is fearsome. And were she to take into account the opinions of those that had landed her in the lap of The Arena, she might bother to inform The Snake that she already is and always has been a monster. But the opinions of the dead matter not to her. She knows they would matter less to him.

"I'll have you know," the door slams behind them and they begin a steady descent down cement stairs that even her eyes can't perceive an end to. "I'm quite offended you never told me about your blood."

He isn't though. Pointing this out to him would be fruitless.

She says nothing.

"It's one thing to be handed such a small child and told you'll never find a full grown adult that's stronger than her. But the doctors had to be the ones to tell me why? I'm hurt, Anna, really I am."

This means little to her. Nothing in fact. More concerning to her are the sounds she starting to fail to detect. The deeper they go, the less stamping feet and screaming fans she hears... But this. This is a living silence. It presses in at her, at her senses. There's an energy. A mood.

"Girl, I want your attention." She finally stops, wide eyes still trying to find the bottom. She thinks she sees it. Just there. At the unfortunately sedate pace they'd been keeping it's still three minutes away from them. Now stopped that time is only increasing. "Anna you thrice damned _Ibryda!_ "

"I would not suggest that," she raises a hand, easily blocking the blow he'd meant to deliver the side of her head. She glances at the snarling visage of her master. "My teeth are sharper, Snake." Some of that thinning, silvery hair had fallen into his furious eyes. Flustered still, he withdrew his hand and shoved it through his hair, nearly ripping strands free. Gritting teeth.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He demanded. She looked forth, the floor below waiting with its living shadows and miasma of hatred. The thunderous grumbling and shrill shrieks from areas deeper still that she begins to detect now just over the almost overwhelming sound of The Snake breathing and the wet thumping of his heart.

"You did not ask."

"Why did you not show during matches?"

"I would not waste that much energy on children and overly confident adults that pose as much threat as children."

"Why not just tear them to pieces, devour them?"

"It was unnecessary."

"You're kind is," he searches for a word and she's tense when he puts his hand against her back and between her shoulder blades. "Odd." They start moving again. And because he's such a desperate man and he had been so close to death, she humors him with speech.

"It is not that I have a kind. We, if there is such, are not alike. Not related. Not a _kind_. A random mutation of a random mutation. Simply a mistake. Like the one you just made." She stops suddenly and grabs the hand she'd shrugged off. "Of course, yours was by choice. Mine was not." His fingers break like twigs. Wet twigs. He screams. "I'm allowing you to live. You will not be given another chance. Do not touch me with the intent to harm. Ever." She continues walking down the staircase while he collapses on a stair and begins screaming and cursing openly.

She reaches the bottom much more quickly than she would have, not waiting for the Snake. She's looking for a teacher. And if he can call her what she is but remark her 'kind' is odd, it's likely there's another down here somewhere in this maze, one that's meant for her.

" _You bitch!_ " She's actually impressed to hear him shuffling down the steps after her. She casts her gaze back and up the stairs. Now his silvery hair is beyond all repair, sticking up in places and otherwise falling into his face like a silken curtain that with every lurch of his body forward, sways enough to show her his crazed, enraged eyes. His cheeks are bright red but otherwise his face is bone white, dripping sweat. Giving in to an odd and sudden urge, she smiles.

Only for a moment; she then turns on her heel and starts her trek through the underground maze of dark, dank corridors filled with cells whose doors dwarf her. A passing thought strikes her that The Wrecker could live in such a sizeable cell. But his particular scent is absent from the musty, muddled smells down here. The strangest thing to her is the lack of fear. The upper floors are so saturated with it, it's hard to breathe at times.

Here there is no fear. Here is something else entirely. Hatred. It is a thing that she knows only too well.

"Wait! GOD damnit girl, wait!" She stops. She considers him in a long glance over her shoulder. He looks as though he will be sick. Yet tirelessly he drags himself after her, cradling his crooked left hand to his chest. She wonders if he is unable to call a security force on her, or simply unwilling. He knows, now especially though it's been a very obvious fact from the beginning, that any attempt to harm her will not be tolerated. She waits for him, only to see how he responds to her now.

His angry eyes are gleaming slits on his thin, drawn face. His razormouth is a tight line of tension accompanied by a trembling jaw. Those spots of red still color his cheeks and somehow he looks even paler than before. She expects demands for apology. She expects an obvious statement about not knowing where she's going. He says, and through gritted teeth,

"You don't have his cell key. Only I do."

The single light above them flickers, buzzing lowly. A fat bead of sweat slides from his forehead, carefully down the ridge of his thin nose. She watches him, for the very first time, with interest. He sweats, he pants, he is in exceptional pain. But as he stands before her... he fears her not. And he's quite cunning, or has the aptitude to be, so she doesn't immediately accept that it's simply him being idiotic.

It's certainly not bravery that keeps him here.

"Girl," She notices firstly that he has dropped the _dear_. And of course it's impossible to miss his tone. Plain. The most honest she's heard of the beguiling wretch. "We're at an impasse, it's clear." His breathless chuckle is both pained and humorless. "I'd like to strangle you very much, but alas one of my hands is unfortunately mangled, and you'd turn me into a bloody smear-"

"Meaty paste," she corrects. He tries to smile, perhaps. It's a snarl more than anything. "I would turn you into a meaty paste."

"Noted," he hisses, ever a Snake. "And you'd like to get to your teacher, so that the time to fight Elsa may arrive all the sooner. Which is why you spared me, just this once." She neither confirms nor denies what they both know.

"Are you proposing a truce?"

"I'm proposing a challenge." For the second time he catches her interest. She blinks, considering him through narrowed eyes. The pain is getting worse. He's shaking from it.

"And what is that?"

"I had doubted your mental capacity to emote," She twitches, just her eye. Unbidden, a smirk cuts across his face. He steps towards her. She bares crooked teeth, he pauses. "But I've seen the error of my ways. You're a _freak_ , girl. There's no cute way to put it and neither of us is cute. But you're very smart, very capable. I challenge you, oh goddess of murder, to fool us."

He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a keycard.

"This will open the cell of a failure. He was a tool, similar to you. _Ibryda._ But he lacked your potential. And we broke him. All very unfortunate," his tone is conversational as he shuffles forward, giving her a wide berth. He presents his back to her. His shoulders are tense. Wracked with trembles. She follows at a sedate pace. "He's not very friendly. You two should get along swimmingly."

"What did you mean," she asks at length, when more humorless chuckles quiet into laboured breaths. "That I should fool You? In what way?"

Blades slice, lips part, white bleeds through, and in the glance he throws her over his shoulder she recognizes something smug.

"I thought, with your brain, you might have figured it out, but..." Another twitch. His next chuckle isn't so humorless. "Girl, I want you to learn how to be human. I want you to learn how to pretend." Her brow furrows. He's ever so patient waiting for her question. It comes as they round a bend,

"For what purpose?"

"Because you're brilliant, and it should be impossible. But you are an impossibility." Her request for knowledge lead him to assume that appealing to her, admittedly astounding, intellect was the only way to get anything from her. Logic. Fact. "Of course, if you can't do it I understand how difficult it can be for your kind..." Insinuating that not doing as he challenged somehow made her lesser.

"Alright," she says very slowly, nodding even slower. He stops before a door, white bleeding nearly ear to ear. "I accept."

" _Good girl._ "

He opens the door and steps aside, gesturing grandly. She doesn't hesitate to step forward into the darkness. Laughter follows her. Even through the slam of the door behind her and muffled by the thick walls and distance, his laughter rings out. Clear. Delighted. Until it fades into something that's a tense quiet.

The not-quite-silence is broken by the _clack_ of claws on the floor, the swish of cloth.

Before her looms a mass of something furry and filled with fury. It growls, it's jowls drip with drool and gleam with the white jutting sharp of mountainous fang. Tusk, she would call it. It stands well over eight feet tall, built thick like The Wrecker. But better. So much better. Her blood sings, pounds through her veins. Her own growl rises from her chest, rumbling through her frame.

" _Who_ are _you?_ "


	10. Chapter Nine: Die Trying

"What the Hell do you mean, I can't look at the files!?" Shere Khan, it was rumored, had been a combatant once. She could almost believe the claim, as big as he was, but she'd been here twenty years and she'd hardly seen him move his hulk from behind his magnificent desk. Although, he was half-blind and crippled to an extent - to what extent, she doesn't know, only that he requires a cane to walk - so it's also fair to assume his glory days were ended on the field.

"Simply that, Elsa," he smiles, it's filled with satisfaction. "Kaa restricted access to that information a week ago-"

The same day Elsa had met that little freak.

"If you want anything, you'll have to clear it through him."

"That's BULL SHIT!" She slams a fist down onto his desk. Ice crawls out from beneath her hand, attempting to slowly encase the wood. Shere Khan sniffs and flicks at some. As she draws back it crumbles then disintegrates. Calmly, she begins again, "Kaa and myself don't really see eye to eye-"

"Bull shit," he shoots back with a chuckle. "You hate him and he adores, but resents, you. All it takes is a conversation. You're just being a child. Funny, considering I'm almost entirely certain you're well older than me."

"There's something wrong with that girl," she says at length, and lowly. "It's more than not being human she's..." Elsa suppresses a shiver. "She's not normal."

"Your body, innards, skin and hair are frozen by the very same magic that keeps you alive... But that girl isn't normal? And by what right do you have to judge her?" He's stopped listening. Even with her magical display he's NOT listening. He thinks this is funny.

"Simply because of that. Simply because my Champion in Arms was an experiment that failed and he, too, is so strange," She growing louder, impassioned. "Simply because I have survived and fought here for TWO decades and seen all manner of unimaginable strangeness! Due to that, due to ALL of that, would I say I have earned the right to judge something as fucking strange and guess what?"

He's still smiling. As she leans forward over his desk, hands planted in the middle, agitation sending ice out from every point of physical contact she has with the wood, she drops into a hiss,

"That girl is not normal. That girl is a fucking _hazard._ To everyone and everything around her. I know it, I had hoped even your dulled battle senses might catch it," His smile splits his face wider. "I want to know what I'm dealing with, _Sir._ Would you please allow me that?"

"Absolutely," She hasn't seen him so pleased since the day she walked in looking for work, so many years ago. "Just as soon as you've got clearance from Kaa." Ice sheets the desk, her mouth opens and she draws in a breath to begin an argument anew. He's standing in a flash, one hand gripping his icy desk for support, the other locked around her throat. She grasps at his thick wrist. It won't budge. It isn't freezing. "You're not the only one with magic tricks, Elsa. Though I'll admit mine was an acquired sort."

He flexes his grip on her throat. She chokes. A ring on his finger burns against her skin.

"Don't think you can bully me, Elsa. I can respect your ability, I can gladly accept you as my top reigning champ... But never, ever delude yourself into thinking that you have any power over me or my decisions." He tosses her back away from his desk. She hits the floor hard, but concerns herself less with minor aches and pains and more with sucking air into her desperate lungs. "We're all fighters here, but you magic users always get _so_ cocky. You forget there is always a way around your little spells."

He holds his hand up, a garish ring with a glowing red stone greets her. But that's just the one he used on her. Every finger is garnished with finery she now assumes hold some sort of magics.

"For what it's worth, you're right. That girl is a freak. An emotionless death machine the likes of which I've never seen, never dared dream of... " He's falling back into his chair, suddenly weary. Looking older than he is, ancient and resigned. "A monster."

Blinking back into the present, he waves her away.

"Now begone from me. Find your ex-Sponsor. Grovel, bribe, threaten for all I care. Get your clearance and don't bother returning until that point." She picks herself up, rubbing her neck. Her skin there still burns. She glares and backs towards the door, but stops when he calls out to her, "Oh and Elsa?"

"Sir?"

"Unfreeze my damn desk."

* * *

He looks at her with fond eyes and an uncharacteristically warm smile. She smiles back only because of the sling his arm is in. She'd heard from Ralph that a week ago The Snake had slithered back into the med bay shortly after he'd left with Anna - less than an hour - with a hand mangled beyond belief. She assumed, and correctly so, that shortly after receiving medical attention, he'd gone to Shere Khan and restricted access to Anna's records. His little monster had broken the hand that fed and that was entirely too amusing. Or maybe just expected.

"Elsa," he greets. Warmth from him was almost as uncomfortable as the still smarting burn on her neck from Shere Khan's enchanted ring. "So glad you could join me."

"Sponsor Kaa," she returns, formal as can be. Cold as ice. She takes a seat across from him. "Let's cut the chat and get right down to business."

"Hmmm," he steeples his fingers, setting his chin on them as he leans his elbows against the table. "No I think not. You need me, not the other way around."

Today is not her day. This week has not been her week. She needs a drink. She's only so thankful a waitress arrives beside them.

"Yes, I'd love you to get me the strongest drink possible. Physically, literally possible. I don't particularly care what it is or who makes or how. You just get it done, and make it strong, is that clear?" She might make the waitress cry, but she can't help glaring. She's fucking angry. The girl nods quickly, shaking as she turns to Kaa. He waves her off. She is visibly, physically relieved by this, a great heave of a breath leaving her, shoulders relaxing. She scurries away and then Kaa speaks,

"You're frightened," he notes. She'd like to deny him. But for the first odd number of years competing in The Arena he _had_ been her Sponsor. He understood her well enough to read the hard set of her mouth, the fissure between her furrowed brows, the ceaseless drumming of her fingers on the table for what it really is. "You should be."

"Yeah," she scoffs, rolling her eyes. "No kidding. No one else is and I. I don't get it." She reigns in her nervous hands by threading them together. "Ralph loves her, Van loves anything that her man loves, for the most part. The fans are nuts over her. Shere Khan is ready to let her run rampant through here for fucks sake!"

The air around her is frigid, she knows by the extra shakes and trembles as their poor waitress sets her precious drink down. She stutters out a question that Elsa doesn't let her finish. Cutting her off with a sharp glare and a wave of her hand. Kaa observes this with a smile. She tips her glass, groaning lowly at the bite and spice on her tongue, trying to convince her that her insides are anything but cold.

"You're a mad man." She cradles the glass in her hands, staring down at the nearly black concoction. A watery shadow watches back. Kaa chuckles.

"I am," he admits, shameless. "And you're right. Even I'm not afraid," he pauses, snorting as he slightly lifts his sling. "Good lot that did me." Her lips peel back from her teeth, smiling though she doesn't mean to.

"Good lot indeed," she picks up the glass, saluting it to him before tipping it back again. She drains nearly half of it. Somehow it bothers her mostly that she can get along with this fucking creep. What does that mean for her? "Where is she?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," he teases but it lacks venom. "I've got her down in the dungeons." She sighs loudly, relaxing back into her seat truly for the first time.

"Sweet fuck, actual good news!" He laughs easily, leaning forward with interest.

"You _really_ can't stand her... why is that?"

"She isn't normal," One of his brows positively pierces the heavens. "I know I know. I'm blue. I'm magic. I get it. It's just. Something is. Something about her it's." Flustered, she took another hearty gulp. Gathering her thoughts, she said finally, "She's unnatural. She shouldn't exist."

"Funny," he leans back, a king in his throne, content with his kingdom. "She said something along the same lines just before she broke my hand. Called herself a mistake."

"Oh I like that one," she's laughing now. "Smart little monstrosity."

"Oh that she is indeed. I'm hoping to, hmm, unlock that potential of hers."

"Like you did mine?"

"Oh, but much greater," For some reason that makes her bitter. "I've only just begun to scratch the surface of what she's capable of. I think she might very well be the first to take you down." He's laughing delightfully. That bitter taste won't leave her tongue, even after gulping up a bit of drink.

"Doubtful," she tells him. He never stops smiling.

"And yet you fear her."

"Fear won't stop me from destroying her."

"Oh it won't stop her from destroying you either. Poor bastard can't feel it. Can't feel anything really but," he shrugs with one shoulder. "That's all the better for me."

"Why did you restrict information on her?"

"Does that particularly matter?"

"You're avoiding the question."

"I am."

"You discovered something about her. Something you don't want just anyone to know." He was laughing, but not at her.

"You always were smart. You might be as smart as Anna," she's scowling again. He coos at her, "Oh don't take it so hard. That girl is a freak, her intelligence is but part of it."

"Even I was mostly human once. I don't think that, that _thing_ ever has been."

"Oh," he was chuckling. And she'd never heard him sound so genuine before. "I made the mistake of assuming she was anything other than a monster. Told her I'd turn her into one. As if she _needed_ my help... ahh, but at least someone does." He's smiling at her. "Need my help, that is. Tell me, Elsa, why should I give you access to her records?"

And here's her in. She's supposed to convince him with her unshakeable conviction. She's thought about this long and hard for hours (one hour and twenty seven minutes) and had planned scenario after scenario. She tosses the rest of her vile concoction of death by alcohol poisoning back. Slams the empty glass down. A dark drop of liquid slides down the side. Idly, she tries to slow it's descent.

"In some weird way?... I feel obligated. I had so badly wanted to meet her, and then I did and it was nothing like I expected... I, I guess I'm not entirely certain what I'd expected but it wasn't... _that._ I feel almost bad for her... She lives only for death. I will deliver this unto her. If it's the last thing I do, if it's the only thing I do, I will make certain that girl is brought to an end."

He'd brought a briefcase. As she'd spoken he'd taken to slowly pulling it up from the ground next to his polished shoe. And as she finished it _clicked_ open with all the speed one hand allowed him. Carefully, he removed a device - his Viewer, it looked like - and slid it across the table to her. He looked as satisfied as ever and when she hesitated he gestured grandly, insistently. She acquiesced, bending over it.

"1-0-3-5." He fed to her when the password screen popped up. And there it was. Her files on the screen. Anna. A quick scan of the contents revealed as much as Elsa already knew. A basic description of her features, body. She was actually nine. Or at the very least, her birthday had been three days ago. Celebrated in the dungeons.

There was that odd sensation of feeling sorry for the little beast. She shook it off.

She was a Lycanthrope, apparently. More specifically, she was-

"Fuck," She breathed. "She's a fucking inbred."

"Ah, ah, aahh," he chastised, gentle and half amused. "You know how inaccurate that claim is. _Ibryda_ , darling, are not from inbreeding."

She _did_ know that. She'd met one once before. He had been an unbelievably kind and gentle soul, before...Before The Arena stole his light.

"She might be," He laughed at that.

"Watch the videos," it wasn't an order but it wasn't quite a suggestion. Either way, she obliged him, curious enough without all his prompting. The first was a security feed. Noiseless but easy enough to understand. Still, he provided, "I was introducing her to Shere Khan. The old bastard lacked faith in me. So I arranged for a demonstration."

She watches in mute fascination as Anna crushes the windpipe of her opponent, and snaps her neck.

The second video is longer than the first. And decidedly less impressive. Almost boring. She voices this as the bully trips over a rock and Anna lunges, "Really? She tricks him into trip-"

She watches in mild shock as Anna beats his skull into a bloody pulp.

 _What the fuck._

The third video is the one Van had mentioned. The Skinner. Slimy freak he was. They'd stopped pitting him against children for a reason. Even knowing how this ends up - with the inevitable loss by The Skinner - it seems so awful that they give him a kniffe.

And so she watches almost in a daze as that girl snaps a femur in half over her knee, thrusts it into The Skinner's gut, _catches_ his knife, _pulls him to his FUCKING KNEES,_ and proceeds to eviscerate him, while forcing him to look her in the eye. That is, until he's too unsteady, so she shoulders his weight and continues to penetrate his organs with a six inch blade. And then she decides he's had enough and with one last slide of the knife into a lung, she ends him.

Elsa sits back. Pushing the device back to Kaa. Numb to his smiling face. Their waitress returns and Elsa is very soft spoken when she politely requests another drink. Kaa declares that he'll have one too. The waitress is even more terrified of this reaction. Regardless, within a minute they both have near-black death concoctions. She sips hers numbly. He hums, content, into his own drink.

Anna is not like her friend of old. Anna is unlike she's ever seen. _She'd felt bad for that thing..._

"Cheers!" Kaa calls to her suddenly. She jerks, looking to him with wide confused eyes. "To you, and your lofty endeavors. May you accomplish them," here he paused to chuckle, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. "Or die trying."


End file.
